It was fun while it lasted

Yesterday I took my daughter for four hours to play at my dad's house. I love my dad to death but we don't go over there often because it's the land of the smokers. The whole house reeks (sorry Dad and Teri but it does) and by the time I leave I have to strip myself and the kid in the garage, wash the kid off and hope she doesn't have lung crud by the next day.

She always has lung crud the next day. A mixture of Papa's kitty cat and the cigarette smoke usually leaves both of us with a lingering 2nd hand cough, puffy eyes, scratchy throats and grumpy attitudes.

So while we're there it's all Papa and Teri playing hide and seek, watch the baby dance, talk about the good times and the bad times and then we leave and it's like knowing the apacolypse is coming. So I'm torn. Every. Damn. Time.

Now to give my dad much credit, he never smoked while we were there and I did all the cursing. So I know he's trying. It's just still tough to know that tomorrow you're kids going to look like a leaking faucet.